Chrysopoeia
by Seph Meadowes
Summary: A lie. A mystery. A secret. "I'm Adam" Adam Bion was all these things. "Would you believe me if I told you I was a nice guy once...with no issues?" And Hermione Granger is determined to figure him out. "Nice guys usually have the most issues" HIATUS.
1. Chapter 1 This is how it all started

Chapter 1 – This-is-how-it-all-started

Cold. Everything was so cold. Sharp frost biting cruelly into every inch of him. No, but also like fire. But cold. Burning but cold. Cold fire.

_And it hurt._ Everything hurt.

His skin prickled with the piercing chill, his skin, paler than it had ever been, chalk white but with a green tinge and glistening sickly in perspiration. His dark hair was sticking to his forehead, eyes watering in pain and his body felt like lead.

_Pain. _So much pain.

His head was pounding, hurting like hell, as if it was about to explode. Like his brain hadn't gotten any rest, sore with exhaustion, clouding his senses with the pain, letting that be the only thing he could focus on.

_KA-THUMP. KA-THUMP. KA-THUMP_. His head felt like it was pounding along to the rhythm of his heart.

He couldn't sleep, stuck in the threshold between dreams and reality. His mind was muddled and confused, flickering images at an abnormally fast pace, it was making it hard to tell the difference between what was real and what was not.

_Voices. _He could make out voices in the room, even through the pain-filled fog that was his mind.

"Is there anything we can do, Albus?" He heard his mother's voice, filled with so much worry and agitation. There was a note to her voice, telling him that she was doing all she could not to cry.

_He was going to die. _He knew it. Every fiber in his being screaming it out from the frosty burning the influenza had induced.

"I'm afraid there is nothing more we can do, Perenelle." answered a foreign voice.

The ill youth opened his eyes, eyes burning and watering with his effort. The whites of his eyes red, clashing with the obsidian blue of his irises. He gnawed his teeth in pain, using all whatever left of his strength he had to keep his eyes open.

His mother was crying, waterfalls of tears falling from her pale blue eyes, dripping down her rosy cheeks as she sobbed. She looked a mess.

His father however was not the same. He was crying also. But he wasn't miserable and sorrowful – no, he was furious. Anger radiated off the man in red hot waves, but he was gentle as he held his wife to him. His hand, slow and with much care as he combed it through his wife's blue-black tresses, trying to soothe her.

"We have to save him, Nicholas." the mother weeped through all her tears, clutching desperately to her husband, pleading, begging for the life of their only son.

Her husband's expression became tormented, internally debating something with himself. A part of him wanted to do what she wanted so badly, but the only way would be too dangerous and risky.

"_Please_, Nicholas!" the mother shrieked in anguish.

The sick young man on the bed had never seen his mother act this way. Vulnerable, fragile, miserable, hurting, frenzied and looking like she might collapse from it all. She was always so strong and brave, never like this.

A new burning formed in his chest, unlike the frozen burning of the rest of his body, it ached for his mother, trying to reach out to her and try to comfort her...but couldn't.

He wanted to console her so badly. Hold her in his arms, tell her everything was going to be all right. But he couldn't. He couldn't move his body, he couldn't speak as his throat was sore, and his mind was becoming less coherent by the second.

"Albus." His father said to a tall, long-bearded, aged wizard.

The old wizard had a grave expression, blue eyes staring solemnly. "Nicholas, my dear friend, you know that the stone has to be destroyed."

"Yes, I know that Albus." the father replied austerely. "Nellie and I do not mind dying, we have lived for so long, we've had all the time and more in this world... but our son? He has just turned seventeen! He has barely been long on this earth, barely ever fully lived! Can you bear to have it on your conscience the death of my son?"

The aged wizard became emotionless. "And can you bare the consequences of your actions that will come if you do this?"

There was silence. Tension filled the room, the two wizards trying to stare each other down into submission.

"Yes," the father answered, not breaking eye contact. "I'd give up everything for my son."

The old wizard turned to the adolescent on the bed, eyes contemplative, before turning back to the father. "Do what you must then." The father nodded, eyes glistening with gratitude.

Everything was becoming darker, vision blurring, black spots appearing. If possible, the adolescent's head seemed to throb and hurt even more. He would have groaned if he had his voice.

The father was sitting on the bed now, staring into the eyes of the young man's- no, boy's, not yet a man. His hand rose to wipe away the sweat on his son's forehead and brush away the wet locks of blue-black. His hand traveled down to the boy's quivering jaw, steadying it . The thumb rubbed soothingly on the feverish pale skin before the hand retreated..

The youth couldn't remember much of what happened next, just blurs and murmurs. And a flash of something shiny and red.

However, he could never forget how his father had looked at him with so much love, a sad smile on his face. "I love you, son." And Adam Flamel succumbed to the darkness that awaited him.

--

_In alchemy the term _chrysopoeia_ means transmutation into gold (from the Greek _khrusōn_, gold, and _poiēin_, to make), although it is also symbolically used to indicate the philosopher's stone as the completion of the Great Work.._

_Nicolas Flamel's story is alluded to in J.K. Rowling's first Harry Potter book, Harry Potter and the Philosopher's stone, in which he is something of a MacGuffin; though he is the clue to the whole mystery of the book, he never actually makes an appearance. He was friends with Albus Dumbledore and is said to have lived for hundreds of years until the Philosopher's stone was destroyed following the events of the book. He was 666 years old. _


	2. Chapter 2 Musings about home

Chapter 2 – Musings-about-home

Blue. That and bronze were the house colors of Ravenclaw. Everything in the common room and dorm were in those shades. The couches, the throw pillows, the rugs, the curtains, the beds in the dorms, the school robes – everything was in varying shades of pastel blues and glittering brass.

He could see himself quickly getting tired of the color scheme.

But despite his new house's apparent obsession with blue and bronze, he was excited to be in this school. Hogwarts was one of the schools he was not allowed to attend as a child unfortunately. Being the family secret did come with its discretions and disadvantages. And one of them was appearing non-existent to the world over.

Thankfully, even though he was not allowed to attend a real school, their library had more than enough books he had needed for his home education.

But he had always wondered what it was like to go to classes and be though by someone else _other than his parents_.

It felt surreal now that he was actually there. He kept thinking that this would just again be one of those strange dreams of his that he would soon wake up from.

He would be back in his bed in France waking up to the golden European sun that was bright and shone through the large French windows of his room, illuminating the white walls and colorful paintings that hung on them. The works of art were creations by own mother who placed them there to try and bring color and vibrancy in the otherwise bland space.

Most of the paintings were that of their estate, especially the gardens as the sun's golden rays would slip through the white mist casting a heavenly look on the green fields. The light would make fresh dew glisten on the grass, shrubs and trees. But nothing was as breathtaking as his father's roses of white, red and pink. The roses were his father's hobby, a labor of love as the old man would be up at dawn tending to the beautiful but dangerous plants by his own.

His mother if not up to create another masterpiece would still be in slumber, often waking up almost till noon. And later would lounge on the wooden chairs near the lake, reading a novel and sipping tea.

Feeling restless, Adam had ended up going for a walk and somehow wondered inside the forbidden forest. Despite the dangers that lurked inside the place, the green and feel of nature was comforting to him as he missed home. The cracking of dead leaves and twigs he stepped on gave him a sense of déjà vu as he would often hear the sounds back home when he went out for his morning walks.

Feeling a sense of calm that had eluded him since he boarded the Hogwarts Express, he began to reminisce how he ended up there in the first place.

White. _Bright and stinging._

_He blinked several times as his eyes adjusted to the luminescent lights of the room. As his vision settled he looked about his surroundings and saw the familiar setting of his room. Everything was the same – the white walls with his mother's painting on them, the taupe carpet, the antique furniture, the photo on his desk of his parents and him when he was five years old. _

_Everything appeared to be the unchanged, even the afternoon sun that shone through the large windows as the light wind breezed through the mint green curtains._

Warmth._ He felt something pressed against the skin of his right hand, a warm sensation only found in the friction of skin against skin._

_Glancing down, he found his mother's small, pale and delicate hand entwined with his, his own hand practically dwarfing hers. He had pianist fingers – long with neat, trimmed nails and unblemished, alabaster skin. _

_His mother was sitting on a chair, upper body crouched over as her head rested on the white silk bedspread. Locks of her hair tickled his arm as they splayed about messily in dark chocolate waves._

_With worry, he wondered if she had slept in her bed at all these past few hours or maybe days. He didn't know how long he'd been in slumber._

_He looked up at the door as it opened with its signature creak. _

"_Ah, you're awake." His father looked pleased, a relieved smile present on his face._

"_How long…" he coughed momentarily. His throat was sore from being unused and his voice raspy. He tried to reach for the pitcher of water on the small table near the bed to try and soothe his dry and aching throat, but his father beat him to it, pouring a glass and handing it to him. _

_He took a few sips, gratified for the cooling sensation the water had brought, before speaking again. "How long…how long have I been asleep?"_

"_Not very long, a little more than a week at the most"_

_He watched as his father gently took his spouse into his arms and carried her towards the plush sofa on the other side of the room. With much care, the aged wizard settled his wife down and covered her with a blanket he had brought with him. After making sure she was comfortable enough, he turned back to his son._

"_How are you feeling?" the old man took a seat on the chair his partner had previously been occupied on._

"_Fine. My throats a bit sore but that's all."_

_His father nodded. "Good." The old man stared out the window for a moment, seeming to be lost in thought before speaking. "Do you remember Albus Dumbledore?"_

"_He's a friend of yours and mum's."_

"_Yes, but he's also the headmaster of Hogwarts and…" his father trailed off._

_The adolescent waited patiently for his father to continue._

"_He's…he's asked if you'd like to attend Hogwarts this upcoming semester."_

_He was surprised. "That's rather odd. Shouldn't I have been asked this when I was eleven?"_

"_Yes, but concerning certain events that have happened recently…" he stopped for a moment, his brows furrowing on a distressful thought. "Your mother and I thought it best that you go."_

_He continued, "It'll be a good experience, Adam. You'll get to socialize with people your age and you've always wanted to go to a real school haven't you?"_

_The adolescent sat quietly on his bed, trying to process what his father was saying. He knew there was something his father was hiding but he also knew that whatever it was it'd have to remain hidden for now. _

_Secrets, after all, were nothing new with this family. _


	3. Chapter 3 Routines and Opposites

Chapter 3 – Routines-and-Opposites

Routines. He was used to routines. His life had always been a routine.

Like life at Hogwarts for example, it was also just merely a routine. Each day had an order, a schedule – a list of things to do that was ensured to be abided.

His list consisted of the following:

Wake up and get out of bed.

Take a shower then get dressed.

Have breakfast at the Great Hall.

Go to class.

Have lunch.

Go to class.

Study during free period.

Go to class.

Have dinner.

Go to bed then sleep.

This list of ten things was to be followed, something to go through and finish. For if he didn't, there would be chaos. And chaos was not welcome in his life.

He continued with his routine every single day as days come and went by blurs of light, color and sound. They began and finished even before his mind could comprehend anything.

Everything was a blur, an apathetic and surreal blur.

His need for routines had come from his father who also was adamant on them. The man was organized and liked to control everything, something that the adolescent realized at the age of ten.

Everything was always to be planned out to the very last detail. Everything had a routine. Everything had to be kept in order.

Besides being controlling, his father was also a perfectionist. Demanding the best and giving no allowance for mistakes. His schedules, plans and rules were to be followed exactly how he told you when, where and how to do it.

There was no room for repercussions as the old man was also a firm disciplinarian and his punishments were something to be gratefully avoided.

Candidly, Adam didn't really mind all the rules and restrictions. They thought him how to be self-disciplined and tidy. He was never late, never disobedient, never messy, never committed a mistake. He was the ultimate son every authoritarian parent would want.

With irony it is that his father the perfectionist, the orderly and chaos-hating man, would end up marrying his complete opposite.

His mother was a free-spirit. She did not care for rules and preferred to do things her own way. She was messy, thoughtful, creative, and fun-loving. She constantly tried to find the good side in any situation.

Unlike her other half, who did not know how to even hold a paint brush properly, she was artistically gifted. She was always painting or sketching something, whether it was real or from her own imagination.

She was also a loving mother. With paint smearing her cheek and fingers, she played tag with him by the pond when he was small. She told him stories to put him to sleep at night, acting out the events with much liveliness and hilarity. She sang him to sleep in her arms when he had a nightmare. She taught him how to paint and draw, smiling fondly and complimenting his drawing of his father, even though it looked more like a goat than anything else.

She was a warm ray of sunshine with pale blue eyes that shined with a childlike exuberance. She was always smiling that heart-warming smile and laughing that laugh of tinkling bells.

It was her mellow side however where she and her husband found common ground. Both of his parents, enjoyed the calmness of just sitting by the fire, wrapped up in a warm blanket and absorbed in a good book on a cold night.

Another thing they had in common was their general care for him. They never made any qualms on letting their love for him be shown or said. They made sure he knew that he was the most important thing in the world to them as he grew up.

They really were an odd couple once you really thought about it – the tyrant and the carefree thinker. Somehow though, despite all their differences, they worked and loved each other dearly.

Who knew that a chance meeting in a public library would result in one of the longest marriages of the Wizarding world?

He smiled furtively at that thought. Well, more of what the Wizarding world thought _used to be_ one of the longest marriages.

He grabbed his satchel as he got off the bench, heading straight for the classroom door. He headed straight for the library, continuing what was next on his agenda.

He found with shock as he saw a blonde girl sitting at his regular table.

This was not right, this was not good, this was disorderly - this was not part of the routine!

He found himself approaching the blonde girl, noticing the Ravenclaw robes and he quickly tried to decipher in his mind which of his house was she again. He recognized the silver eyes and pale skin but who was she?

She looked up at him, large, languid eyes staring at him curiously. He did not know how to react, what to say, what to do. Should he just leave or maybe say hello and ask her to leave his seat so he can get back to his routine?

She smiled at him, her smile reminiscent of waking up from a wonderful dream. He felt his mind get clouded with confusion, his tongue seemingly forgetting its use.

And then she spoke, "Hello Adam Bion, would you like to join me?"

He looked at her incredulously for a moment, wondering how she knew his name while he couldn't even comprehend hers. But he found himself taking a seat on the chair opposite hers and placing his satchel on the empty space of the table.

"What's your name?" he asked, not caring much for subtlety at the moment.

"Luna Lovegood. " She held out her hand.

He stared at the small, pale, delicate-looking hand, reminding him eerily of his mother's paint stained ones. He looked into her eyes; they shone with honesty.

Slowly, he took her hand, watching as his hand connected with hers, his own larger and dwarfing hers. "Adam Bion. It's nice to meet you."

She continued to smile at him and he smiled back. For once, he found himself happy for a broken routine.


End file.
